The Bilge King
by Sugar St. John
Summary: A starving man cannot woo or shag capably so Hook masterminds a hustle. Odd strays follow him home, an old rivalry is renewed and he plays a maddening game of "What Are We?" with Emma. Rated M for language, sexual situations, malfeasance, mindless shagging, crudity, besotted shagging, fisticuffs, vulgar dwarves and boorish pirates.
1. Chapter 1

An AU tale set after the events of the episode "Save Henry". Will be fiddling with canon. People, places, and history will be invented and reinvented. Liberties will be taken with any and everything.

**Disclaimer**: **_I do not own the OUAT characters, but will take credit for all OC persons._**

_For all those who offer a review...thank you. _

* * *

**CHAPTER ONE**

Emma couldn't breathe. The ground beneath her was hard and unyielding and so was the man crushing her into the snow-dusted terrain. Despite their mutual daze, he recognized her struggle and leveraged himself on one elbow to ease some of his weight from her. There was no falter in the deep, cadenced thrusts as he did so, or when he tugged the edge of his long coat over a naked hip to shield her from the frigid wind. She was actually grateful for the snatches of cold that invaded their little cocoon. The heat their fierce coupling generated was near stifling. Emma stubbornly blamed it for the dizziness clouding her head, not the pirate stroking her into one of those orgasms that left your ears ringing and tears blurring your vision. And she was making a startling amount of noise, but as they were in the middle of nowhere in the middle of the wee hours, she didn't care.

With his nose buried in her hair and his mouth clamped firmly against her nape, Hook was infinitely more muted. When those smooth thrusts segued into erratic plunging and he finally climaxed, his hoarse groans reached her ears alone. The combined thumping of their hearts was a strangely melodic counterpoint to their harsh breathing.

Hook lifted his head and peered down at her with heavy-lidded eyes, a smirk tugging at his lips. "I believe you've frightened away the animals, love."

Emma laughed softly and relaxed the fingers that had been digging into his ass. Her own was near frozen, but what was a little frostbite compared to the sublime feel of a warm male pressed against your belly and thighs?

"Now." Hook adjusted the fur lining of her hood about her face and tucked the long coat's edges closer around her body. His manner was gentlemanly and amazingly casual given their carnal state. "What were you scolding me about then? Before you got distracted?"

"Before _I_...?" She snorted incredulously. His ego was a thing of beauty. "I wasn't scolding."

"Interrogating." He amended.

Emma sighed and repeated the question she'd asked him twice before he'd successfully sidetracked her. "What were you doing out here?"

"Enjoying nature."

"Usually people enjoy nature during the day, you know, when they can actually _see _it."

Hook nuzzled her cheek and kissed her jaw chastely. A sweet gesture in stark contrast to the erotic tableau they presented with him wedged between her thighs and still seated inside of her. "What were _you_ doing out here?"

"Tracking you." Emma confessed, not at all contrite. His face was inches from her and she caught the mocking arc of his brow. "Sheriff. It's what I do."

"And do quite well, among other things."

He kissed her and Emma wondered if this could be considered a form of intercourse. It certainly felt like it, the way he ground his mouth against hers as he tongue performed a sensual thrust and glide. But now that she was sated, Emma was too shrewd to fall for his ploy again. As soon as he released her mouth, she ordered, "Now answer the question."

"Does your law allow a man to remain silent if he's being unfairly harassed?"

Her glare was meant to intimidate, but he only smiled and tugged playfully on a lock of her hair. There was a subtle roll of his hips against hers. Tricky bastard. She'd get no answers from him while vulnerable so she bucked upward to dislodge him.

"Give me a minute, love." He moaned, dropping his head to shoulder. "I haven't sufficiently recovered."

Emma determinedly pushed at his hips and this time he obligingly rolled off her. Even in the darkness, she could see she was a wanton mess, panties and jeans shoved down around her shins, soles of her ankle boots pressed together, legs splayed. Agitated, she lifted her lower body and yanked her clothes up in one smooth movement. Hook stood and offered a hand, pulling her easily to her feet. He finished straightening his own clothes and then began brushing away the snow and leaves that clung to the backs of her jacket and jeans.

How had she had allowed herself to succumb to his charms a third time? A _third_ time_. _Emma shook herself mentally and vowed to examine her weak will later. Right now, she wanted answers. His actions had become increasingly shady since they'd returned from Neverland last month. Their growing friendship might suffer, but she was determined to police Storybrooke the way she'd previously failed to do. Which meant she should maybe stop having impromptu sex with the object of her suspicions.

Emma zipped her jacket up to her chin, shivering as another icy gust hit her. When she turned to him, she propped hands on hips, affected an assertive stance and tried to ignore the lingering ache between her thighs. "Well?"

Sighing, Hook tunneled agitated fingers through his dark hair. "Can't a man have some secrets?"

"Sheriff." She reminded him.

There was a guttural hissing of some choice expletives and then he was striding away. The afterglow had officially faded. Silently, Emma followed as they wove a path through the trees and dense brush. She brought out a flashlight when the thick canopy of tree branches blocked the moon's faint illumination. In her head, guilt and duty clashed. She wanted to trust him. He'd saved her father's life and helped them rescue her son from Pan. She liked him, cared about him. But she couldn't ignore Leroy's unsolicited reports of Hook's mysterious, late night treks into the forest and his clandestine meetings with a couple of the town's lowlifes. He _was_ a pirate after all.

When they were almost at the road, Hook paused to let her catch up, then offered her his arm. Relieved that the hissy fit was over, Emma let him escort her to the yellow Beetle. Once she was settled behind the wheel, he kissed her, shut the door gently and turned to walk back into the forest.

"Unbelievable." Emma muttered as she swiftly rolled down the window. "Hey!"

Pivoting, Hook sauntered back to her and propped an arm above the window as he leaned in close. "Yes, love?"

His aloofness was beyond infuriating and it was Emma's turn to cock a brow at him. "Seriously?"

And Hook's turn to be exasperated. "Whatever imagined corruption you think I'm engaged in, put it out of your head, Swan. I swear, I'm on my best behavior."

"You –"

"I expect you not to follow again."

"_Seriously_?"

"Have I not earned even a little of your faith?"

Frustrated, Emma dropped her head to the steering wheel and agonized over her loss of control. She should have kept her distance instead of befriending him, worrying about him. Now that they'd been intimate, he'd grown entirely too arrogant, probably thinking her too whipped to care whether he did that pillage and plunder thing.

Hook was observing her patiently when she looked up at him again. Her tone was deliberately hard. "I have to do my job. I'm the sheriff, I have responsibilities."

"Responsibilities that entail false persecution?"

"I _need_ you to stay out of trouble."

"I've no plans to get into trouble."

"This is your last chance. All it takes is one wrong move and people will remember why they didn't trust you in the first place."

"You lot take far too much pleasure in reminding me that I've tried to kill several of you on occasion."

Emma cranked the engine and turned the heat on full blast. She wanted answers, but she wanted a scorching shower and her warm bed more. "Let me take you back to town."

"I'd prefer to walk, lass."

Punching him in the throat would be so cathartic. "Do we understand each other at least? This isn't personal."

"Of course not."

"Things are kind of…it'd probably be best if..." These words would be more difficult to voice. "So there's no more confusion, we should probably stop sleeping together."

He found that bit amusing. "_I'm_ not confused, love. Besides we haven't exactly been _sleeping_."

"You know what I mean."

He regarded her silently, his eyes intense and accessing. "It seems I'm at your mercy, then. We shall do things your way. Goodnight, Swan." Then he straightened and vanished into the forest again.

Emma glowered pensively at the spot where he'd disappeared before giving up and aiming the Beetle towards home.

* * *

Storybrooke had a seedy side. It festered northeast of Jaune Cove and encompassed roughly two square miles. Ramshackle houses stood in neatly tiered rows on the hilly terrain overlooking the region's nefarious commercial hub, where dubious looking establishments bordered a poorly paved two-lane street and a wide, squat warehouse loomed at the dead end up ahead. There was an air of something sinister lurking just beneath the squalor. The town's quirky charm has missed this area. Or had been driven from it.

One could skulk through in five minutes. Less if you were at a run, as was the scrawny pillock who plowed into Hook and sent him stumbling off the sidewalk. The poor bastard was being chased by a more menacing pillock, so Hook let slide his need for apology. Pursuer and prey faded into the darkness and in the distance, Hook heard faint yelps of agony as he crossed the intersection.

He'd been advised to search the pub with gray stone and black awning, only every building here looked the same, all of them crumbling studies in disrepair. There were no eye-catching displays to guide potential patrons, only light struggling to shine through murky windows. Hook paused to suss out his destination, wondering what these poor bastards had done for Regina to have cursed them to _this_ existence.

A frenetic crowd outside one establishment drew Hook forward. Despite the chill, people loitered about, some engaged in debase activity. He edged by a couple who were a skirt-lift away from screwing against the wall and stepped through a tall, black door. It was indeed a pub and the place was nowhere near as appealing and sanitary as Granny's. Remnants of meals littered a couple of rickety tables and a puddle of something trickled across the scarred wood floor. The din was a jumble of rowdy customers and screeching that Hook recognized as modern song. That salty dwarf had called it heavy metal.

His interest was keen. And reciprocated. Curious eyes followed his slow swagger towards the bar. The massive brute working it grinned broadly, jagged teeth gleaming in the dim light. "You're a pretty one."

Whipping the long coat aside, Hook eased onto a stool. "Compliments for noticing."

"Sound pretty too." The brute ribbed good-naturedly. "You'd make a nice plaything."

"You have quite the ample tits there, but I shall have to pass."

The brute chortled, as did the two sloshed gentleman flanking Hook. They raised their glasses and nodded at the pirate before retreating back into their inebriated stupors. Hook felt oddly at home.

"Name's Olin and this pig sty is mine." Meaty arms were flung wide to encompass the hovel. Then he swiped the bar top with a rag and slapped down a napkin. "What'll you have, Captain?"

Impressed, Hook's brow arced in silent query.

Olin shrugged. "Small town, word gets around. Except when we're about to die. We lesser beings don't usually find that out until shit's already swirling down the john."

"Bloody ruling class."

"High and mighty fuckers, all of 'em."

Hook grunted and ordered whiskey because Storybrooke was sadly short of rum. The drink arrived neat and in a shockingly clean tumbler. It burned smooth and slightly sweet against his tongue and for a moment he thought he might come. Olin's libations were far superior to Granny's milder offerings and Hook was now tempted to sample the grub. But he was reluctant to spend the meager amount of the paper currency he had left, so he got to his purpose and began covertly scanning the throng.

"Get you anything else?" Olin returned after he'd waited on several other customers. "More whiskey? Some supper maybe?"

"More whiskey and information."

"_Ooh_ information, eh? The kind that could get a man beaten within an inch of his life?"

Hook was amused by the excited gleam in the barkeep's eyes. "Not at all."

There was a comical groan of disappointment. "_Damn _I miss intrigue. A lot more interesting than some pissy queen's vengeful curse. It was loads more fun in the Old World." His tone turned wistful. "Mysterious strangers with agendas, espionage, depraved royals. Every now and again, you'd find a man's privates scattered about the - "

"I'm looking for a big chap, quite strapping." Hook accepted the fresh whiskey and guided Olin back to the present. "Bald. Has one blue eye, one brown."

"Oh _that_ beast. Can't remember his name, but he comes in a couple times a week. Last time I seen him, though, he looked like he'd been chewed up and shat on." Olin squinted at the clock mounted on a far wall. "Probably be here round midnight. It's his usual time to carouse."

While he waited, Hook nursed his drink, ignored the redhead aiming her cleavage at him, and brooded over Emma. It'd been exactly six days since he'd last seen her. Her habit of visiting him daily to make sure he was behaving was apparently over. That no sex edict must be enforced. Ironic considering she'd been the one to initiate the sex in the first place. A mischievous attempt to introduce him to that foul cheese in a can had turned into resplendent fucking on his too narrow bed. A broader mattress and a mutual declaration of love beforehand would have been his preference. He'd actually made an honorable show of resisting, but alas, she had swirled her tongue in his ear…

"I detect a bit of Dálraida in your speech."

Surprised, Hook swung to the sloshed gentleman on his right. Who didn't appear to be sloshed at all. The crinkled blue eyes were watery and red-rimmed, but alert.

"I've been gone from that land for centuries."

"Perhaps." The old man beamed at the pirate as if he were a long lost son. "But some of that tongue is still evident in your words."

Thrilled upon recognizing the faint but familiar lilt, Hook countered, "Yours as well."

"Well, I _am_ a descendent of its people."

Hook examined the old man carefully. He was bony, silver-haired and wore neatly arranged but threadbare clothing. The obviously wretched circumstances couldn't hide that noble bearing, however.

"What're you drinking, mate?"

"Ale that I've been sipping for an age. I'd much rather have Olin's excellent stew."

Hook lifted a finger at the barkeep, unable to pull his eyes from the old man. "What else do you know of Dálraida?"

* * *

The _Jolly Roger_ was moored near the end of the docks and in Neal's opinion, it eclipsed the pitiful modern ships surrounding it. There had been bad experiences aboard the pirate vessel, but they'd been outweighed by the good. Her flags could be dingy and tattered, her hull weathered gray and covered with barnacles but he'd still think she was the most beautiful vessel he'd ever seen. When he looked at her, it was always through the eyes of his boyhood.

Apparently Emma was bewitched by the ship as well. She was standing on the dock a few feet away, a hand shoved in the pocket of her sheriff's jacket as she gazed up at the sails.

"Hey." Neal greeted as he approached. When she turned to face him, he saw she was actually scowling. He took note of the small paper sack she carried, a bottle of wine peeking from its top. "Looking for Hook?"

Her expression was guilty as hell. Neal's lips twitched as he struggled and failed not to laugh.

Emma wanted in on the joke. "What?"

"You got I've-been-schtupped-by-a-pirate face."

She reached for her gun.

"Sorry…_sorry_." Neal laughed harder as he raised his hands defensively. That he could find humor in his ex's romance was a relief. There was a twinge of jealousy, but he knew one day that feeling would permanently disappear. He and Emma had tried to rekindle their relationship after Hook had stepped aside. They'd flamed out in less than a week. The friendship had miraculously survived.

"What's with the _grrr_? You planning on blowing up the _Jolly_? Hook's got a thing for you, but that chick," He jerked his head towards the ship, "is his true love."

"Oh I know not to mess with his girl." The derisive eye roll didn't match her grin. "I was just wondering."

"About?"

"Those two."

The scowl returned and Neal followed its aim towards the men who'd emerged onto the main deck.

"I asked where Hook was and they gave me that look." Emma snarled.

"What look?"

"The one that says you're a girl and you've got cooties."

"They're pirates, Emma, they love girl cooties." He teased. "You want me to kick his ass?"

"Huh?"

"For standing you up."

Her look was long-suffering. "We're not dating, we're just…hanging out."

Neal grinned knowingly. Emma gave him the finger.

"The big dude is Thump." Neal pointed at the black man with the freakishly large hands. "The skinny one is Waghorn."

"Not their real names obviously."

"Obviously. They used to be part of Hook's crew in the Enchanted Forest and apparently are again." Noting the rigidness of her svelte frame, he asked, "What's the deal?"

"No deal. Just making sure his nose stays clean."

That Emma was invested in keeping Hook on the straight and narrow said a lot about how she really felt. What was it about him? The accent? The chest hair? It did have that manly swirl thing going on.

"He's not real big on snooping."

"Where do you see snooping?" She was visually castrating him now. "What're _you_ doing here?"

"Looking for Hook, same as you. Trying to pin him down about going to New York on Thursday."

"What's in New York?"

"He's got business there." Neal grimaced on the last word. He'd probably broken the bro code spilling that information.

"What kind of business?"

"Dial it back, Pepper Anderson."

"What kind of business?"

"Nuh uh. You wanna know what's going on, you ask him." Neal moved closer to the _Jolly_ and yelled, "Yo! Waghorn! Have you seen Hook?"

The man moved to the railing and shouted back, "Probably at a bar with his face in some titties!"

Neal cringed. He took note of Emma's icy countenance and was suddenly glad he wasn't hers. "You're not gonna key his boat, are you?"

* * *

It was just after midnight when Hook's quarry finally appeared. The door was tall but the man was taller, having to dip his head to enter the pub. As Hook watched him greet a group gathered around the billiard table, he felt a tug on his sleeve and glanced down. Wulfson had donned small, round spectacles and was shrewdly examining the long coat's cuff.

"Superb stitching." The old man noted and began carefully plucking away indiscernible lint. "Who fashioned this garment for you?"

"I can't recall." Hook murmured absently and returned his attention to the bruiser across the room. He caught one of the frazzled servers by the arm and ordered a beer to be sent over.

"The fabrics are quite extraordinary." Wulfson was now admiring the lining, fingers gliding over the area where leather and cloth met. "I suppose the weaver is long dead."

The bruiser accepted the beer as the server pointed out Hook. There was the barest flicker of recognition in the man's eyes and none of the relief the others had displayed. But he made his way towards the bar nonetheless and took up a wide-legged stance, ever menacing despite the life worn countenance. Hook was reminded of Black Murphy and a jolt of melancholy twisted in his chest. Every so often, he experienced fleeting moments where he missed his old crew.

"Captain." The greeting was gruff, wary. Surprisingly deferential after all this time.

"Breakspear."

"In this world, I'm known as Gary."

"Name doesn't suit you at all." Hook scrutinized his former master gunner from tattered boots to haggard face. "Olin was right. You do look as if you've been shit upon."

"Haven't been as lucky in life as you, Captain." The man growled, voice rumbling like thunder over the loud music.

The murder of loved ones and the loss of a hand were lucky? Hook's answering grin was wry.

"What're doing on this side of town?"

"Looking for you. Charming community, by the way."

The bruiser lowered himself onto a stool and the miserable wood whimpered beneath his weight. "It's like the bilge here. Full of filth and vermin. No place for a captain."

"Nor one of my best men." Hook countered and meant it. Breakspear hadn't served aboard the _Jolly_ long, but he'd served her well. "How does a man as capable as you find himself here?"

Massive shoulders rolled into a shrug. "It's like you said. Been shit on."

"Haven't we all." Wulfson commiserated as he stood and straightened Hook's collar.

Breakspear's curious eyes darted between Hook and Wulfson, but he said nothing. They sat in silence for a companionable stretch, Hook nursing his whiskey, Breakspear sipping a second beer, Wulfson enjoying a third helping of stew. In his head, Hook calculated he'd be well and truly destitute by week's end, but it would be money well spent if he could recruit _one_ competent crewman.

"How dire are your straits, then?" Hook finally got on to business.

"Things are rough." Breakspear answered reluctantly. "But I'm not ready to off myself."

"Then your clinging to life is of benefit to me. I'm in need of a worthy crewman."

Black brows knitted together. "We can't exactly sail the high seas anymore, Captain. The border, remember? Life isn't so bad that I want to forget who I am and all I've lived."

"Pirating is no longer an option, but your skills could be useful in other endeavors. In the meantime, I'm going away for a few days and need someone to look after the ship, among other things."

"Isn't that Smee's job?"

"You're far more trustworthy. Besides, Mr. Smee seems to have gone missing and Thump and Waghorn tend towards buffoonery."

"Heh. Those assholes finally found you, I see."

After learning of his arrival in Storybrooke, the two former crewmen, who'd been caught up in the Evil Queen's curse, had gravitated towards Hook seeking refuge from their pitiful existences here. They'd already moved into the crew quarters, bringing with them paltry but welcome provisions to curry favor.

"As I recall, you discharged the whole crew not long before the curse hit." Breakspear accused. "Without good reason. So if I tell you to fuck off -"

"It would be understandable. I shall fuck off and you can continue your grand existence." Hook's gaze pointedly swept their coarse surroundings. "As it were."

There was a scratch of his scruff and brief enthrallment with his boots as Breakspear contemplated. "If we're not pirating, then what'd be our game?"

"The game, Mr. Breakspear," Hook tipped his drink forward, "is survival."

Breakspear tapped his mug against Hook's tumbler. "To survival, then."

* * *

**AUTHOR'S NOTE: **The name Dalriáda has been borrowed from history. It was an ancient Gaelic kingdom, also known as Dál Riata, founded around the 6th century and located off the coast of Scotland. Its origins and people are also linked to Irish and British chronicles_._


	2. Chapter 2

**CHAPTER TWO**

Captain Hook was a crafty fucker. Even if someone _was_ brave enough to venture into this eerie and treacherous region of the forest, they wouldn't easily happen upon the treasure buried beneath rotting animal carcasses, dung-filled craters and treacherous ravines. Digging it up was nasty work. Breakspear had several ugly gashes, Captain was soaked, and they both reeked of decay and muck.

They'd started at dawn and were lugging twelve large bags back to Breakspear's concealed Jeep by noon. A heavy snow began to fall, adding to their misery. After they'd locked the gold in old steamer trunks, Breakspear drove them back to the harbor. He suspected there was more loot hidden in foul places, far and away from the gold they'd retrieved. But he'd let the captain keep his secrets. He wasn't about to piss on good fortune. He'd take whatever payment was offered for whatever work needed doing and be thankful he no longer had to sleep in his car.

But later, after they'd washed up and were settled in the warm galley with Wulfson's crude meat pie, Breakspear's curiosity got the better of him. "Those coins weren't like any currency I've ever seen. In the Enchanted Forest or beyond."

"Took a peek, did we?"

"Not by design. You saw the bag rip."

"Hmm…yes." The captain's amusement was self-deprecating. "Was that before or after I went boots up in the brook?"

Breakspear guffawed at the memory of the normally sure-footed captain taking a header as he yanked a bag from its underwater hole.

"May I remind you of your less than graceful foray into that pile of shit?"

The guffaw faded into a sheepish chuckle.

The captain's smirk was superior as he pried bottle caps from a couple of beers. "The coins are unfamiliar because they're not from any realm you'd know."

"Did a little pirating while waiting for the curse to lift, yeah?"

"Treasure hunting, Mr. Breakspear."

Pirating just the same, Breakspear thought. "Call me soft, Captain, but I'm not sure I should share in a treasure I didn't help hunt."

"Of course you shouldn't. But you'll earn a fine wage acting as my left hand. You can handle things here? I've delayed my trip to New York long enough."

"The ship and those two asses will be as right as you left them." Breakspear assured him, then wondered about the strange elderly man who'd followed the captain home from Olin's last week. "What about the old man?"

"What do you mean?"

"Got a weird feeling about him."

"He's a peculiar gent, but he's harmless." The captain's tone meant business. "And he's welcome here."

"Of course, Captain. At least he can cook." Breakspear noted as he began wolfing down supper. It had been left warming on top of the iron stove, but Wulfson was nowhere to be found. "He's disappeared again, you know. Too cold for someone as feeble as him to be wandering about. Wonder where he's got to?"

* * *

The C-notes had been counted out, placed in a small envelope, and slipped beneath the cash register for easy access. Olin liked his shakedowns painless and quick. Marie burst from the kitchen frequently to ask nonsensical questions and scrub aimlessly at stubborn stains. He knew she worried that this could be the day she might lose him. That pent-up anger might lead to foolish action and her husband's gory death. Olin shooed her away with a kiss on the cheek and a pat on the bum, then tried to hush his rage with scotch.

Mr. Gold arrived promptly at noon, his dapper shoes echoing gloomily against the uneven floors. Marie had been haranguing Olin to replace the rotting wood, but money was like magic beans around here. The meager profit made went towards liquor, overhead and this evil bastard.

"Afternoon, Mr. Daugherty."

Olin nodded curtly and tossed the envelope onto the bar.

"I don't believe we've ever had a November quite cold as this." Gold said amiably. Had the nerve to be amiable as he gelded a man. He tallied Olin's payment and then leveled him with vacant eyes and a condescending smile. "Everything appears to be in order."

"As it always is." Olin noted wearily.

"Until next month, then."

"If I stay open that long." Olin muttered once the imp was out the door and crossing the street towards the bakery, which really wasn't a bakery anymore. Poor Gus was forced to bake a small amount of inferior goods at home, having no money to repair his ovens.

"A most unpleasant man."

If Olin hadn't been used to Wulfson appearing out of nowhere, he'd have been startled. As it was, he was glad to see the wily codger. It had been especially cold of late and Wulfson often made his bed on the streets. He emerged from the shadows looking none the worse for wear and swathed as usual in his dingy yet artfully arranged clothing. A curious fellow. At times he looked as ancient as the earth and at others he appeared ageless. Today he was boyish and full of vim.

"Where've you been now? Marie was worried."

"The captain saw fit to provide me shelter on his ship."

"That was good of him." Olin said, recalling the bowls of stew the pirate had bought for Wulfson. He'd have been fed regardless. Marie couldn't abide by letting him go hungry. But Hook had been willing to pay for Wulfson's usually free meals and Olin had needed the profit. "Sleeping on an old ship can't be any warmer than sleeping in the alley."

"Not by much, but the cots are softer and there's no bite from the wind."

"Well, the offer of our storage room still stands. It's no trouble to move some things around, make you a nice bed."

"I wouldn't feel right unless I earned my keep and you've no jobs for me to do. Speaking of which, I was wondering if you could grant a favor and help me retrieve some of my belongings? Master Killian hasn't said anything, but I feel I should repay his kindness with more than just my modest cooking."

"Be glad to help. Just let me get my tools."

In the storage room, Olin retrieved bolt cutters and a flashlight, then he and Wulfson exited the pub through the back door leading into the alley. Riffraff were hanging around the dumpster behind the butcher shop and Olin hoisted the bolt cutters menacingly. They wisely slithered away.

"The pirate seems to have taken a liking to you."

Wulfson tugged off his hat, adjusted the brim, then angled it atop his head at a stylish tilt. "He feels a kinship, as do I."

"He seems a good man, but what could you possibly have in common?"

"Well." Wulfson's gait became spryer. "That's a long story best saved for another day."

The tale could be coaxed out of him _this _day with a couple of pieces of Marie's cobbler. For now, Olin concentrated on stealth as they made for the warehouse.

* * *

Emma placed the meal before Hook and watched him take a first bite. She'd expected delight and curiosity, maybe a demand for more. But the expression distorting his features was one of mild disgust. He pushed her offering away until it teetered at the edge of the table, poured a shot of whiskey, and promptly drained it.

"Apologies." Hook noted her dismay. "Must burn the swill off my tongue."

"It's not _that_ bad." Emma chided.

She'd been looking forward to his reactions to electronic gadgets, Lady Gaga, fast food. Porn. He was a curious relic in a modern world and watching him fumble, gawk and ooh would no doubt be adorable and goddamn hysterical. Unfortunately for Emma's amusement, Hook was extremely underwhelmed by excessive new world stimuli.

"I've never tasted shit before, but I'm quite sure that comes close." Hook muttered in his refined accent, then knocked back a second shot. "What do you call it again?"

"A burrito. People love that _shit_."

"It tasted of salt and lard."

"You're definitely not a normal guy."

"And there was a subtle tang of ass."

"You've tasted ass before?"

He snorted and chased the whiskey with one of the beers she'd brought. Emma wanted to shove the burrito down his throat, along with a couple of burgers and a gallon or five of ice cream. He looked thinner. Or did he just appear thinner because she hadn't seen him in two weeks? She scrutinized the pristine galley, wondering where he'd gotten coal. How was he surviving? Did he realize it was too cold to be living on the ship? What did he do for money? Food? She was desperate to know. And worried. But dealing with male pride was a tricky thing. Her probing would have to be subtle and peppered with just enough blatant curiosity that he wouldn't suspect what she was really after.

"So what have you been up to?" She picked up her own beer and rescued the teetering burrito.

"Not a bloody thing." Leaning back in his chair, Hook propped his booted feet up on the battered oak table. "There's a distinct lack of debauchery in this town. It vexes me."

A faint snicker drew their attention towards a corner of the galley. The old man was perched on a chair next to the cast iron stove, John Lennon-like glasses propped on his long straight nose. He was applying careful stitches to rich brown leather and every so often would pin Emma with an unnerving stare.

The glide of a finger across the back of her hand drew her eyes back to Hook and she leaned forward to whisper, "You realize you're whining to the _sheriff_ about not being able to pillage and plunder?"

His voice and the finger dipped lower. "I'm only interested in plundering you."

Emma's pulse thumped between her thighs.

"Mind your manners, Master Killian."

Hook threw an amused scowl towards the corner. "You've got quite the keen ears, old man."

Wulfson paused in his needlework to give Hook a serious look. "She _is _a lady, despite her questionable manner of dress."

Emma blinked. "Excuse me?"

"Come, Swan." Hook rose and held open her jacket. "I shall sully you somewhere more private."

That got a chuckle from Wulfson instead of admonishment. "Reprobate." He then stood, sewing clutched carefully against him, and affected a polite bow. "Good evening, Miss Swan."

"Yeah…you too." Emma murmured as she watched Hook shrug into the long coat. He'd been sitting when she arrived and now that he was standing, she could see the leather pants and high-collared black shirt were definitely looser. They weren't hanging off him, but the difference was noticeable to someone who discreetly and regularly ogled him.

This tact thing wasn't working for her.

"You've lost weight." She stated bluntly when they were outside the galley. "Are you sick?"

"I'm fine, love."

The reply was succinct, flat, and delivered with a shuttered countenance. Emma let it slide because his eyes had narrowed to slits, those pretty blue orbs glittering ominously through a veil of black lashes. Backing off was not in her nature, yet she'd been doing a lot of it lately for Hook. She didn't want to examine the reasons why.

The guy with the mountainous physique was on deck, hunching against the cold as he puffed a cigarette. Emma considered herself a tough girl, not easily intimidated by men, but that thing looked like it snacked on Godzilla. He nodded cordially at them before returning to gazing out at the water.

Hook twisted a key in a large padlock and dragged away chains, then they were descending into his cabin. He moved confidently through the darkness to light a lamp. The flow of hot air from a portable heater provided only minimal relief from the cold.

"So what's the deal with the old dude and the ogre?" Emma edged carefully by a couple of steamer trunks. "You've got a thing for attracting nuts."

"I don't transact with lunatics, love. They're all good men. Especially Wulfson. He's as gentlemanly as they come."

"Did you hear what he said about my clothes? He basically called me a bimbo."

Hook parted his coat to wrap her shivering form against him. "Bimbo?"

"What you'd call a slag. A woman of ill repute."

"He called you no such thing. Although you must admit, your clothes _are _rather tight. I've stripped garments off women in half the time it takes to relieve you of yours. " His point was emphasized as he struggled to wedge his hand down the back of her jeans. "How do you breathe in pants this snug?"

She pulled his hand away, but let him press her against the wall. The sly glide of her palms up his torso was to check for protruding ribs. There was hardness, but nothing alarmingly boney. "So. You and Neal are hitting the road tomorrow."

"Thus the true nature of your visit is revealed." His placed a gentle bite along her jaw, sucking the soft skin between his teeth. As he nuzzled her neck he whispered, "Will you miss me?"

Emma was determined to stay on track this time. "What's in New York?"

"Hopefully a willing woman." He growled in frustration as he lifted his head. "I seem unable to find one here."

She might've been put out if she didn't know better. "Please. We both know you're sprung."

"Sprung?"

"Never mind. Convince me you're not up to something."

"What's in it for me?"

"A date?" She ventured.

"A social engagement?" He sauntered to the bed and stretched out on top of it. "But what would be the point? I've already ravished you from bow to stern."

"I'm swooning." Emma commented drily. She joined him on the bed, propping herself on an elbow to face him. "Why all the secrecy?"

"Why all the suspicion?"

"Sheriff."

"And here I thought you valued honesty." Hook tsked as he flung a heavy blanket over her. "Isn't your diligent monitoring of my activities about making sure I'm worthy of you?"

How could she answer that without giving him hope or losing him completely? To be honest, Emma was so conflicted, she didn't know what she wanted or how to feel. He was sticking around now, but what happened if he got the chance to shake Storybrooke for good? She wasn't about to get her heart invested. Sure as hell wasn't going to follow him to God knows where and risk losing Henry or her parents again.

"Everything I'm doing is for you, love, I swear." He confessed seriously, skimming his knuckles across her cheek and placing a kiss there. The hard set of his feature screamed determination. "When you finally succumb to me, I'll have more to offer you than just my prowess."

Well that sounded as if he was willing to dip into serious relationship territory. Maybe she should stop underestimating her ability to inspire devotion.

"When you get back, we're going to have a talk. Not a question and question session. A _talk _about what's going on or there's no more of," She tipped a finger back and forth between them, "this. Capiche?"

"Capiche?"

"Never mind." She sighed, pushing him onto his back as she straddled him. "Just do that ravish thing."


End file.
